


He's been the Definition of Faith (DRAFT WORK)

by GalekhXigisi



Series: Faith [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Archangel Sam Winchester, Chapter 1 is s1-4, I've lost this document 6 times and recovered it 7, S14 Spoilers, Trans Sam Winchester, draft, season 1 to 4, this is a draft of another story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-12 15:54:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18013829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: A collection of drafts for a fanfic that I am currently writing. nothing is set in stone here. However, you can watch my bullshit, messy ass brain go through my thought process herethe official fic is HE'S BEEN THE DEFINITION OF FAITHhttps://archiveofourown.org/works/17692490/chapters/41732606





	1. Chapter 1

It takes time for the baby to adjust, especially when they constantly mumble words that Dean can’t dare make sense of. Instead, it confused the Hell out of his damn mind.  It all seemed like gibberish, though the baby,  _ Samantha, _ responded perfectly to English, learning it much quicker than Dean expected her to. More often than not, though, she replied in a gibberish tongue, one he didn’t know, and the child seemed genuinely confused as to why he didn’t respond back, or why he was blabbering gibberish in return. He suspected that whatever he’d said to her sounded more like if an adult spoke to him with the only intelligible words being taxes and democracy, both spread apart with babbles in between.

All in all, she was an amazingly happy child, all up until she turned four. Then, she became a sad child, one full of sadness and frowns for the longest time. Her pigtails were constantly pulled by the other kids until she decidedly cut them with her own scissors, glaring at her father from the motel bathroom as he charged in, ripping them away. She had screamed at him, telling him she had already told him about the issue. That was the first time Dean had ever witnessed his father slap someone, especially so brutally, leaving Sam crumbled on the floor and biting her already ripped through lip. From that day on, things only progressed to more and more hostile actions between the two.

Sam and Dean played make believe sometimes, when Sam was feeling up for fucking around until one managed to injure the other while John was gone for ‘work.’ Sam always insisted on being Robin when they played around with Batman, somehow still terrified of that damn Joker doll that she ended up setting on fire in the parking lot of a motel with a harsh glare, though nothing around her had shown any signs that there even  _ was _ anything to start the fire with. She had shrugged when he’d asked how she’d done it, the shorter of the two replying,  _ “I’m Batman in secret, of course,” _ before trotting back to the room, unaffected by her own banter.

Dean would never forget the day she bargained with their father, saying that  _ he _ would be a much better cover up than  _ she. _ Sam had spoken on for a full three hours that it would be a much better alias than Samantha. He knew Samantha Winchester was known for surviving a fire, though Samael Winchester wasn’t known for anything. In the end, it took him seven months to come around and agree that Samuel was a better name than Samantha, though Sam was sure to use Samael as a cover up whenever possible, giving the excuse that his parents were incredibly religious to friends and teachers. For some reason, they bought it.

When he was eight, he found out about the supernatural world, glaring at the two that crawled through the room. It was so rare for John to take a case so close to the two, but this nest of vampires had flooded in like a group of high schooler’s going to the mall.  Sam huffed as he took notes from his book, writing them down on the paper in front of himself. “You two  _ stink _ of blood,” he prompted without being ushered on, turning back to his papers again as John focused on him. “You’re gonna lead more nests to us if you don’t start wiping off before coming back. The car already stinks like a wet wolf went to chow town on a heart.”

“Have you been reading through my books, Samantha,” John asks instantly, which causes Sam’s eyes to slam up, especially at the stench of liquor and the dead name. “Because we don’t go snooping in my books, alright?”

“I didn’t. You just stink like iron and the car smells like wet dog.” John huffs, taking a swig of the bottle. “It’s not hard to figure out what you’re doing, though. Mom hunted, too, and she-“ The sound of a bottle shattering made his blood run cold, especially at realizing it was against the side of his head. It wasn’t pass-out worthy, but it was  _ definitely _ going to cause a migraine and more than a couple of knots, he realizes as he brings a hand up to the side of his head, greeted with chunks of glass there. His eyes flicker to Dean’s face, peering at the terror that ran through both of them.

“Don’t you  _ ever _ mention your mother again,” he speaks, words slurring. Sam flinches at the reminder he knows John is about to throw at him.  _ “You’re  _ the reason she’s gone.” With that, he storms out of the motel, slamming the door.

Sam knows he’s going to get his ass handed to him from a hangover in the morning, but he also knows that he’ll get shitfaced and fuck the first lady he sees if given the chance. It was a process, after all. Just because it had become routine, though, doesn’t mean Sam was used to it or liked it. Tears slipped down his cheeks, mixing with the blood as Dean quickly moves to tend to his little brother. Violence had somehow become their normal, a violent John nicer than a silent one. The silent one brought terror of wondering what may come next. This one, at least Dean was there to pick up the pieces of, literally and metaphorically. And Sam is thankful as he hugs his brother that night, silently letting the tears slip down in the sickly yellow light of the shitty motel lamps. They find comfort in each other, each curled up with some shitty movie that makes no sense playing on the busted up TV. But that night changes Sam, changes him in a way that wasn’t from the hit, but a realization that maybe  _ this _ wasn’t normal, or how things were supposed to go.

He meets Sully at the ripe, old age of nine. He loves Sully, his only friend at the time, so ready to do anything and everything with the Zana. And he runs the Hell away, running away from  _ the Life, _ from his possessive father and terrible life. He runs and runs for a while, all up until he gets caught. He takes the hits in a trained silence, wincing as was needed. Dean disappears for a while after defending him, too, which is an absolute bitch, in his opinion, but life comes and goes as is. He learns to handle it, terrified of his father and loving his time away from the oldest Winchester. Sam hates leaving the other, even if he silently does so without knowing. He misses that last hunt, going to do the hunt before relenting. When he returns to that shitty motel/cabin, he doesn’t see Sully, instead finding an empty room. He sons and sobs, realizing that that just wasn’t what he really wanted. He wanted the Hell out of hunting in the end, but that just wasn’t for him in the end. Somehow, he knew it was far too good to be true.

At eleven, he wakes up sobbing, in terrible pain. He had woken up from a nap, a simple nap that was something he cherished after particularly strenuous hunts. John would get black out drunk and find some chick to bang while Dean would do the teenager equivalent, going out on dates or make out sessions with random girls that he would typically forget about in a month or two. But Sam calls his brother with tears running down his face, quietly begging him to get his ass back to the motel. The girl that had picked up the phone was obviously annoyed, but she eventually passed the phone over to Dean after the second phone call, first one being a hung up call after he’d told her off, anger seeping into each and every word. Dean had answered the second time, though, asking his brother why in the  _ Hell _ he wasn’t even speaking in English. Despite his confusion, he had yelled at Dean to get the Hell back home. 

 

Dean was full of anger as he stormed into the room, but his face had softened at seeing Sam on the bed, babbling incoherently through the pain, He helped his brother to the shower, beginning the rest of his jurney with the title of  _ big brother. _ The older of the two stayed silent, keeping his cool the best he could. As they found, the back pains weren’t associated with the sketchy menstural cycle. Instead, they came and went as they pleased, leaving him an absolute mess. Each and every time, Dean was there, sometimes in the background, other times face to face. Either way, Sam was thankful that Dean was there to help. 

 

At thirteen, he ends up in the hospital, the doctor announcing that Sam simply should be dead. Sam stays silent during the week he stays, other than the times he was in pain or complaining about the all in all. Polycisitic ovaries had been the original diagnosis. He had taken the simple route, birth control, after being told that it was either that or possibly getting cancer in the years to come. However, a couple weeks later had ended him in the cell of a room, in far too much pain to do much. Dean stayed at his side, John no where to be seen, not answering any of their calls. The two, thankfully, got by, blood clots eventually forgotten. They concluded that the device in his arm was the best solution, considering that they didn’t really have many options iat the end of the day. 

 

He grows and grows, though there’s a sharp pause at eighteen. At eighteen, the room erupts into fighting. Sam had wanted to escape, had craved over it for his entire life, even if he kept it a secret, desperate not to release it. But the youngest finally finds a way out. He expected Dean to be happy for him, but instead he finds that Dean is nowhere near happ, instead incredibly angry that Sam’s finally getting the life he wants. 

 

He rooms with a witch, one escaping her witch life. She does the basic witch things, avoiding the rather harsh stuff. She doesn’t sacrifice animals if she can help it, does what she can to locate others in the area. She was no hunter, Hell no, but she sure as Hell was a good witch. Sam would teasingly call Jess Glinda, the Good Witch when he was in a hunt’s high, even far before the two had crashed their lips together. They would take hunts around the campus only when it was needed, saving people from what they could. They became the It Couple, validictorians, both living and thriving together. Sam and Jess were the only two “hunters” around campus, occasionally running into others, convincing them slowly that witches weren’t  _ always _ that bad. As things went on, they grew closer and closer, escaping the traumas of their past. Or, so they thought. But then Dean shows up, breathing the line,  _ Dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days.  _ Jess had wanted to go, yes, but she stayed behind, both at the Winchersters’ insistence and her own feeling that if she  _ did _ go, something bad would happen. Either way, she ended the instant Sam returned home. 

 

Sam tunes things out, things he just  _ shouldn’t  _ tune out. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t shake the feeling that what he’s doing -  _ hunting _ \- is going to turn into something much bigger than just this. In fact, he doesn’t have a single doubt about that, just like how he didn’t have a single doubt about how he harbored something  _ different _ inside of him. He knows that he’s different, hunting and all aside. There was some damn  _ supernatural _ reason he could always guess monsters and always get them right. There were dreams, ones that told of past, present, and even the future. Hell, it  _ always _ did. They told of things he could continue on or stop, silent visions that warned him of tiny things. Some told him of monsters, others of ways to avoid arguments with his brother, and so on. He had avoided fights, passive agressive exchanges, and things that somehow managed to bring up memories of Jessica. 

 

Something about seeing a shapeshifter as himself made him cringe, glaring at the impersonator. For some terrible reason, seeing someone impersonating him felt like a  _ sin. _ He cringed even further at that feeling. He should never have been held up at that high of a position, he was just a human with the upperhand when it came to hunting. There was also the terrible moments where they hunted bugs. He didn’t exact.y get the most grossed out at bugs, but it  _ definitely _ was not in his area of expertease. That was something that Sam didn’t favor much, either. They were annoying cases that really  _ bugged  _ him. He almost punched Dean for such a shitty pun. That soon marked the date of six months of searching for their dead beat dad. 

 

Dean’s near-death expeirience scares something new into him, He keeps it concealed as passively as he can. Of course, that means Dean does eventually realize that, though he doesn’t comment. Sam is silently thankful that he doesn’t. Mostly because if he did, that would mean actually speaking out on the topic. He wasn’t prepared for that in the least. It made Sam’s stomach squeeze and seize, the reminder that he could constantly lose someone and there was no way to stop it. Some part of him screams that that simply wasn’t true, that he  _ could _ bring back the dead somehow, some  _ way. _ He didn’t know how to, _ yet. _ He knew of crossroads demons, sure, but those were so damn sketchy. There never once stood a true guarentee that he wouldn’t die beforehand. He knows they’re real, deep inside him, just like how he believes that God is. He wasn’t sure about Jesus, but the angels most certainly were. 

 

Meeting up with John Winchester again makes Sam’s chest tighten, something deep in him awakens that day, full of denial and hurt. He glares at his father, passively aggressive the entire time, angry at the older. He wants to fight with John, to tell him off, yet he finds himself flinching at his constantly sharp tone. It brings up memories that has him reeling, even after four years of therapy with someone certified. Sam ignores his father when he has the opurtunity, though not a single things can dare prepare him for the sacrifices that would be made. But when John leaves once again… Well, Sam isn’t sure how to feel anymore. His body still feels as tight as can be, yet numb to all of it, so void of emotions. He feels like he’s sinking in deep, dark waters, drowning Sam. His nightmares consist of either drowning or flames while the rest are just visions. He savors the nights where his comatose state goes uninterrupted, yet those become so rare that it’s more often than not that he can’t sleep more than five hours at a time without waking up at least once. Dean’s worry for his brother doesn’t dare fade during that time. 

 

The Colt is something he feels humans should not have possesion of in the least. But at the same time, he feels like it simply isn’t strong  _ enough. _ He feels humans should have much better than they do, than they hold to defeat demons. Meg proved to be silent proof of that, with her passive coming and going. It only angers him in a way that he  _ knows _ it shouldn’t. The anger feels almost ancient with it’s mistreatment. He hates the realization that maybe, just  _ maybe, _ sometyhing in him isn’t entirely human, something he had been denying for years now. The name Azazel seems so familiar, yet so damn far away. He doesn’t understand how to feel about the gun in his and his brother’s possesion now, especially as his father suddenly  _ appears _ with more information and assets for them. He finds it suspicious, but voicing such would probably earn a smack from both Winchesters, so he follows Dean’s lead and stays faithful. 

 

It leads through, despite how painful it all is. It hurts Sam in ways he never knew could happen. Either way, no matter  _ what _ he did, he knew his father would die. He had seen the nightmares since he’d left Jessica, since he was a  _ child, _ knowing all of the outcomes. Shooting his father in the leg was the one that saved Dean, but his father’s life still had to end, one way or another. Sam watches his brother mourn, mourning himself. He knows he isn’t in as much pain as the other, no where near it, but it  _ does _ make his chest tighten and coil, as if he’d already lived this scene millions of times. In truth, he had, numbed down to acceptance, to the somber silence that fills car ride after car ride. He lets his screams echo through dream after dream until he wakes up with his throat raw and eyes puffy. Dean knows better than to comment at any of that. 

 

They follow each other into a loop of numbness and cases, coming in time after time. They just keep going on, meeting the Harvelle hunting family Ellen, Jo, and Ash all seem to be much better than John could have dared describe them. Sam particularly gets along with Ash more than the two women of the family while Dean does the opposite, but they all manage to work together well enough. Sam could completely ignore the gun pointed at his brother’s back. They destroy the Rakshasa and Dean destroys the Impala, bar in hand and anger boiling below the skin. He practically radiates anger, fixing the Impala and then destroying it one more. It becomes a vicious cycle until Sam tells him off about it. The younger gets captured during that tme, the vampire group eventually releasing him. He tries to convince Dean that it’s all fine, that they  _ don’t  _ need to die, but Dean persists until convinced otherwise. Gordon was that reason, Hell bent on fucking up the rest of Sam’s life. 

 

Certain visions have nothing to do with Sam in the the least. Those always lead to big things, things like Jessica. This, however, lead straight to someone  _ just like him. _ He gapes at the wall with the realization, because this same stoner of a guy is  _ just like me, Dean! He’s just fucking like me! _ Despite all of Dean’s protests to that all, they end up getting along enough not to murder each other. Not every Azazel-connected child has the same pattern as he first thought, instead they seem to be at random. Ansen and Andy weren’t following the same lines, not in the least, but they were still  _ like him. _ He gives the other his number, just in case, and so on, if anyone else had the same connections that they did.  That didn’t aid Sam in finding the others like him in the least. He figured that they would attract monsters the same exact way that he did. He worried for them in his brooding silence. 

 

Crossroad demons were annoying, at least, but the two remaining Winchesters knew that they couldn’t stop people’s stupidity. The demon that revealed of John’s suffering, though, stood as silent torture for the older Winchester. If Sam was brooding with the reminder of the others just like him, than Dean sure as Hell was doing something a million times worse. He did everything in his power to ignore the other’s lashes and avoid them to his best ability. He avoided speaking his issues, speaking his mind and so on, instead bottling the same way he always had been. He coaxes himself into a numbing headspace. 

 

But the topic does eventually come up, as it had to eventually. Between hunts, he finds his dilema to be one filled with painful cramps. He offhandedly opens the door to the bathroom, not actually looking out where he knew his brother was, just barely out of view of the bathroom from his place at the table. “Hey, Dean,” he calls, earning a grunt in return. Sam sighs, not far from his own groan. “I need you to run to the store.” 

 

“What for?” 

 

“Pads, tampons, whichever is more convienient.” The younger replies. The noises of the older getting up is clear, chair squealing in protest. 

 

“Still the same size on both or bigger, Sam?” 

 

Sam’s thankful for his brother’s blunt question in this situation. “Two sizes up on pads, one on tampons.” With that, the door to the hotel opens and closes, the older leaving while the younger gets in the shower. The two were used to the same situation happening every few months. He would suffer his dying days whenever needed, but these sure as Hell felt like them. 

 

The Croatoan virus caught him off guard. Finding himself infected with the blood felt wrong in terrible ways, like an infection that flared up in his body, absolutely terrible. He felt sick and nausueas, though he handles that in silence and goes on with his life as if he hadn’t been poisoned with a deathly virus not even hours ago. He could have sworn that one of the survivors reported that Sam was immune, _ As expected, _ but he wasn’t sure and didn’t feel like inspecting them to see if that was actually the truth. His nightmares flare up, much more aggressive, all outcomes of if he  _ had _ gotten the virus and of Jessica. They make his stomach squeeze and body ache as he lurches over the toilet. His back pains him in the morning, flaring up more than it had since he’d first left Jessica, but Dean helps out once again, the silent savior in this situation. 

 

More people like him were found after his brother revealed that John had said he’d either have to kill Sam or save him. That realization set something on fire in Sam’s mind, though he couldn’t find it in himself to be too angry at Dean. He does leave soon, though, seeking out a woman named Ava, who had seen the death the exact same as he was. The two find that they’re just pawns in Azazel’s chess game, upgrading as much as they can in the end. They just needed to get across the board, get far away and survive the other players. However, this one involved more than just one kingdom, surviving humans, monsters, hunters, and any other obsticle that ran at them. As that turned out, Gordan was one of the self-proclaimed knights. Dean saves them, thankfully, before getting Gordan thrown in a cell. They leave Ava with a spare number and means to contact them if needed, but when they return for a check in, her fiance is dead and she’d been missing for a while. It was concerning, but Sam could only get blurry dreams. That later spurs on Dean promising to kill Sam if he ever dared turn evil. If only the two Winchesters realized how ironic that was…

 

His senses dim and he’s suddenly gone in the wind, a whole week of his life just  _ blank. _ He doesn’t know why, much less  _ how, _ but he knows he killed a hunter, one of which that had a daughter and possibly the rest of her family in her life. It terrifies him. It terrifies the absolute  _ shit _ out of him. He shoves the gun into Dean’s hands, begging his brother to just go for it. Thoughts rummage through his head, ones that can be ruled out time after time because they all end up being pinpointed as him being a full on  _ murderer. _ He hates the thought damn near as much as he already hates himself. And that’s not what the truly terrifying part, in his opinion, is. He doesn’t even have dreams, just these flashes of  _ do this _ or  _ don’t do this _ types of feelings in his mind, screaming at him what to and not to do. It feels like a dream, caught up in one night terror after another. Even with Jo chained up, a gun aimed at his chest, and the other not much more willing to fight, it still comes out rather harsh. Sam screams and screams inside his mind, different languages all so fluently flowing though, as if it weren’t all things that he didn’t know even existed. His throat can’t go raw, not inside his mind, but it sure as Hell makes him feel like shit. When he returns, his attempts to play it off with Dean and Bobby, he gets a punch in the face. There was no good or bad outcome, just the same exact reaction. THis one was the least painful, especially with how many times he’d seen it. 

 

Sam’s mind stalls and freezes as he whispers to Dean, voice slowly breaking, “I was awake for all of it, Dean. I watched my own two hands kill someone, another  _ hunter, _ no less. And I almost ganked Jo, too.” He hates that he’s correct, hates that it’s the truth, hates that it was so fucking  _ easy. _ He knew Meg knew enough secrets, knew she had implanted them in his brain as well. That was just how souls fucking worked. THe marking that linked them, it linked their minds, gave each other accessable memories. Whatever thoughts she had, he knew, and she knew a select few of his.  _ That _ was something that was truly terrifying. He didn’t know what she knew, but he did know what spells and chants she did know. Dean stops him within an instant of those thoughts, annoyed with his baby brother for even  _ considering _ any of those things. 

 

Seeing the Trickster face to face, knwing who he is, it’s all so  _ new _ to Sam. He wants to scream at the other. Something strikes his mind as so familiar, so  _ terribly familiar _ that it has his chest boiling and seizing. His breathing hitches more than once. Sam’s mind races in his presence, every fiber of him screaming that he should simply  _ know _ who this was, who he had  _ been. _ But Sam couldn’t find it in him, couldn’t find a single memory connecting them at all. His dreams seemed to know him, know the faces but never match names. He had seen that face in his dreams, felt the same exact emotions. Sam’s entire body wants to fight as he watches as stabs him, a giant  _ No No _ to his body. It brings tears in his eyes that he quickly swipes away before Dean can see them. They leave in a tense silence, one that Dean knows not to disturb. He’d seen Sam work through enough mental turmoil to know that disturbing this would lead to painful consequences for both. 

 

To his surprise, a ghost case is immediately followed by a werewolf one. Sam expects Madison to be normal once again, but lore is only lore until proven to be factual or non. Despite her lack of another transformation the next night, Sam turns down her flirtations. Unlike Dean, he can’t exactly flaunt his body in front of people without possible questions. With the turmoil of everything and the nightmares that had gotten more and more frequent since Meg had appeared, there were very few chances for him to relax. Thankfully, Madison respects that, pulling away and nodding as he turns her down, not upset in the least. Instead, the two share a couple of beers and watch whatever shitty movie was on that night. That didn’t stop him from feeling like an absolute jackass when he realizes he  _ does _ have to kill her. She doesn’t mind, though, convincing him to do it with a smile on her lips. It feels like painful manipulation, but… he does do it, albeit painfully, the stench of a wet dog slowly fading from his nostrils. 

 

In all his years of living, Sam never would have believed that Dean  _ actively _ would want to be arrested, but the two delibertly do what they can to get thrown in that cell, rooming together to solve the case. Sam doesn’t dare speak a word of the nightmares that had bumped up to night terrors over that period of time, the cell somehow connected to a string of future visions and blondes with faceless features. One is clearly Jessica, in the same outfit she had been when she died, resembling their mother far too much, and a man that Sam somehow  _ knows _ he’ll meet in the future, though the only distinctable features are the blonde hair, red eyes, green jacket, and jeans. Aside from that, every single thing seems to be corrupted. He feels like he’s seen it before, countless times, but he also  _ knows _ it’s an impending dream, one that slyly hints at his future. Blue mixes with it at some point, blue eyes and black hair on a frame that looks all too familiar to that ob his father’s wedding photos. The red-eyed blonde freezes thing whole the blue-eyed one burns with both rage and flames. Sam was  _ definitely _ not excited for the future. 

 

After a case with a djimm, Sam didn’t exactly expect to wake up in a ghost town, moving through as any other hunter would. He finds Ava, locked up in a shack. He finds Andy, and others, all of which have their own abilities, thanks to the demon’s blood. Jake, as he finds, is the most curious about the demon’s blood and his hunting, asking question after question, maybe to bond with Sam, the younger isn’t sure, but it sure as Hell is a way to pass the time. 

  
The two stand in a building, one broken and shittier than the rest. They volenteered, the biggest two of the five and ready to defend if needed. Ava and Andy were doing their best to calm Lily, though. Jake asks, “So what do your powers let you do? Send messgaes like Andy? Or have some touch related thing like Lily?” 

 

Sam shrugs, pulling the iron bar closer to himself as he rooted around what may have been the ‘kitchen’ area, though he couldn’t be sure. “Never tried either, honestly. I know I’m a hunter and all, but I would much rather let monsters be free if they can do so peacefully. I just get freaky visions and nightmares.” He shrugs, opening a cabinet before jumping back as the hinges splintered off, falling to the ground. 

 

“So you see the future and stuff?” Jake smirks to the taller. 

 

“Past and present, too. This demon blood stuff came in handy with hunting, too. My dad and my brother, I could somehow always tell what they hunted when they came home, even before I knew about all that supernatural crap in the world.” Sam turns sharply as Jake kicks a broken chair, watching the pieces splinter into smaller pieces and fall. He turns back to an open door, pushing through what used to be a home. “Werewolf smeels like wet dog more often than not.” 

 

“Really? What about ghosts and stuff?” 

 

“Depends on which ghosts. Some smell like dirt, others like burning paper. I even found one that smelled like cinnamon when I was nine. I think it was my second hunt. Demons smell strictly or sulphur and blood, though. Vampires smell like blood sometimes, too, but really just like dead things.” Jake follows him, taking a genuine interest in the other’s philosophy of the supernatural scent. 

 

When they finally leave, only six iron bars in hand, Sam was greeted with a sudden idea. “Andy, you can still send messages and stuff, right?” 

 

Andy nods. “Yeah?” 

 

“Have you ever tried long distance?” 

 

Within that night, Sam’s dreams were genuinely filled with calmer ones, despite what everything had been leading up to. Azazel speaks with a twisted pride as he explains why he had brought all of them there, why Lily  _ had to die. _ She was weaker than the others, not going to get anywhere with her lack of confidence. He explains to Sam his own power, simply a sudden burst of muscles that give him the power to lift at least a ton without any issue at all, even going as far as to bending metals easily. He admires Sam, admires the life he lives. 

 

“So you chose to hunt?” 

 

“Not exactly. My dad went missing and my brother pulled me back in. Then my girlfriend was murdered by Azazel, so I had nothing to go on with. Continued my classes online, graduated validictorian, then had nothing to do with it because I was pinned for multiple murders.” He heaves up the salt bag, relining the windows. “You probably never would have went into hunting at all, will you, Jake?” 

 

THe other shakes his head, scoffing. “No. I’m not too much of a people person. Just talking to you guys here, that’s a stretch as is. I’ve got three friends back there, everyone else is just excess.” 

 

;Sam expects that to have meant at least something, but he knows otherwise in the end. With Ava, Andy, and Lily being elliminated, that stood the two competetors left. His mind went hazy after he felt a sharp pain in his back, body tenser than could possibly be. His back felt like flames were licking it, coiling around and snaking through his veins, suffocating him in white light. Something seemed so close to him, so ready to be taken. The blonde and his raven-haired brother stood with their backs turned to him, six wings opened to him. Two others stoodnbeside them, whiskey wings and hair on the smallest of the four while the other had gray wings, clashing with the others. One angel stood between them, black wings and black hair outlining the white. Sam flinches as they burn and glow, everything clashing more an dmore. Smells go from burning flesh to sickly sweet pastries within an instant, hot clashing with cold, and so on until-

 

Daylight burns at him as he slams up, chest heaving up and down. He can’t help but force himself to breathe, especially as Dean and Bobby surge forward. For some reason, that dream felt like both the past and the future, steadying out to the present. He asks questions of Dean instantly, demanding answers. He wants to know what happened, how everything happened, because something so familiar had been so close, only to be stripped away and leave the youngest Winchester with a new feeling of  _ unknown. _ It’s much more painful than when he was younger, full of blissful ignorance and irrational fears. Now, though, he’s got a feeling that he’s supposed to know  _ who _ they were. Sam tells them of the war, of the war that he’s  _ leading, _ even if offhandedly and more on accident than purpose. The youngest’s mind hinders and hides, burning with question after question and concern after concern. His dreams and visions only fuel that. 

 

He feels horrible for Tamara, regretting not being able to save her husband. Sam doesn’t dare say  _ We told you so _ because he knew what it had been like with Jessica. He remembered mourning her, still keeping her in his mind, reminded of her in dreams and visions alike. He apologizes, handing off his phone number as a  _ just in case you need anything at all. _ It wasn’t their fault, no, but Sam could still be sympathetic whilst holding up his tough front. He doesn’t give a shit about what in the Hell he released out of Hell at that moment. The seven deadly sins wouldn’t dare do shit after their death, not with the concern he had for his own brother, living his life at the fullest best he can. 

 

The next case involves one of Dean’s old hook ups, one of which worries the older because he _ may _ have a kid. Sam scoffs at his brother, knowing that it was always a possibility. He shakes his head and lets his brother be, working the case as fluently as he can without the other. They solve the case, passing through with the demon that says she wants to help, says she wants to stop the seals from breaking.  _ Ruby, _ she calls herself. She invades Sam’s dreams without permission, plaguing them like a virus, always in the background with a youthful woman with white hair and the blonde with wings. The wings always glow bright red before flickering to black or brown, though they don’t look like they belong to him, not at all. No, the other wings are so much larger, at least double the size. Sam suspected if anyone were hit with them, it would be an instant knock out. 

 

His luck twists and turns on the next case, good at some points and terrible at others. He’s beyond annoyed with the woman named Bela and wishes nothing more than to strangle her, though he just  _ barely _ restrains himself, especially as he burns the foot. His anger already belowed in silence, only growing into pain as Gordan makes an appearence as someone hunting him. He goes about the next case on edge. Sam’s surprise was clear when he discovered that Azazel had ruled Hell and damned the already damned hole to chaos, demons desperate to find a higher power and praise it. It infects his mind and ends in a certain crossroads demon dead. He encounters Bela only a few cases later, saving her from getting strangled on rain by summoning another ghost. He wasn’t sure how in the Hell he knew what to do, but he  _ did _ and he knew damn well how to pronounce the words correctly, no fucked up extra college class needed, though it probably aided that. He regrets that the instant he finds out Gordan really  _ is _ on his tail, though. That ends with two dead hunters and the Hell’s Boy King still standing proud, albeit guiltily. 

 

Sam does, however, stretch his luck thin once again when the topic of  _ Christmas _ comes up with his brother. While the older wnats to celebrate it, Sam sure as Hell doesn’t want to get near the sickening holiday. Memories of Christmas nigth terrors always came around this time. While Dean always excused it as Sam awaiting Santa’s arrival as a kid, it was just the dreams that kept him fueling up on caffine until his body would shut down on him, leaving him asleep for days at a time. He hated the holidays. Halloween and Easter seemed to be accompanied with dreams as well, though these ones are so much harsher this year. Dean has to wake him up at least two times to get him to stop talking in his sleep. 

  
Witches are an annoyance, even if they have a demon who knows exactly how to counter their magic with everyday objects. Hexx bags, however, are a bitch. The realization that Ruby  _ was _ a witch isn’t somethingt hat should stun Sam, and it  _ doesn’t, _ not really. He felt like he should have expected that. Unbeknownst to Sam, Dean and the former witch make a pact to prepare Sam for what was coming, both his own death and the war. Unbeknownst to them, that involves a dream walker that parades though Dean’s dreams as if he owns the place, as well as Bobby’s. It’s a pain in Sam’s ass. He learns how to control the dream, to walk with the same power the stoner had. For some reason, its exhilerating, like he was  _ meant  _ to do some of those things, walk dreams and change things at his will. However, he hides those and begins his own little expieriments. 

 

When he wakes up in the Mystery Spot, something feels so god awfully familiar. It aches deep in his chest, the same exact ache that he had lived through with the Trickster. Unfortunately, he can’t realize that until he’s lived Tuesday after Tuesday for at least a year. His brain had numbed into something so harsh and ready to shatter. But after what may have been a thousand and one ways to die, he finds the trickster. Unfortuantely, Wednesday is  _ not _ the day he wants it to be. As he finds, tracking Gabriel, or  _ the Trickster, _ is much easier than he thought. Dreams helped clue him in enough, connecting the dots to realize that the winged creatures he had seen in his dreams were archangels, the big, bad ones that everyone fears. He follows the feeling in his chest, blaming it on the demons blood time after time. 

 

“So, you found me, yeah,” Gabriel concludes with a nod, smirking. 

 

“You’re not just a trickster, though,  _ Gabriel,” _ the other whispers, his own hint of amusment playing at his features as the other’s falls. “You see, this demon blood,  _ Azazel’s _ blood, I can sort of sense other  _ things. _ Demons, vampires, djinns,  _ archangels, _ you name it. You’re not that hard to track when I can feel your presence.” 

 

Gabriel shakes his head at hearing that. “You still haven’t realized it, have you, Sam? You’re not  _ just _ demon blood and human flesh. You’re a lot more. As much as I want to teach you about losing people, about losing  _ Dean, _ I rally can’t do anything until you realize who you really are, how big of a piece you are in this game of chess. You’re bigger than a king or queen, no matter what anyone says. You can even be bigger than the player, if you really think about it, but you’re not thinking outside of the box.” 

 

“If I’m not human or demon, then what in the  _ Hell _ am I?” 

 

“You’re like me, Sam,” the other sighs, shaking his head. “I’m going to send you back now, but you  _ can’t _ hunt me down, no matter how much you’d like to. I can’t exactly take away your memory or anything, but I can give you some information. This’ll all help you.” 

 

Before Sam has any time to react, a hand is on his forehead, awakening him in the middle of the car ride. He jumps up, huffing and puffing, chest heaving. He feels the car swerve before a hand is suddenly on his chest, bracing him down with care. “Sam, Sam, Sammy, what’s going on? Hey? You okay? Is this some dream-vision shit or-” Sam pulls his brother into a halfhearted hug without any hesitation in the least, though it could only be described as awkward, given their positions. “Hey, hey, dude, we already established this Tuesday thing was weird, but hugging and shit is weirder. What’s going on?” 

 

Sam slowly explains to his brother what had been said, what had gone down with the archangel. He tastefully avoids telling the older that the archangel is an angel at all, much less that it had been hinted at that Sam was, too. Instead, he waits for the angry dreams of angels, connecting the dots to his best ability. He clues in whp the Morning Star, the Righteous, and the Healer are, though he has issues piecing together the last, dual-winged angel. Despite all his searches, he can’t even begin to find out  _ which _ angel it is. He turns up empty and in jail, actually. But he befriends and saves the other, despite Ruby’s protests to it all. He couldn’t care less. He had other things to worry about.

 

They meet the  _ Ghostfacers, _ an annoying band of  _ ‘ghost hunters’ _ that put themselves in harms way time after time. Despite Sam’s capture and near death situation, he turns up fine, though Corbett doesn’t exaclty do that. He relives his death in front of the others, just an echo of what happened. Echoes ring through the cell ohone lines, too, someone convincing people to kill themselves over the phone until Sam and Dean finally put her at rest. Despite yet  _ another _ near death situation for the older Winchester, the two continue on with their hunts, as full of adreneline as ever. Between cases that involve Bela and ones that don’t, the tension grows and grows, worrying both Winchesters more and more. THeir worry only grows with their disconnection and the realization the Dean’s time has officially run out. Sam only sees the outline of the Hellhounds, watching them move fluently. He finds his brother’s corpse, finds him dead already. Sam sobs with a newfound pain in his soul. 

 

Within the fourse of the next few months, two messages are heard to every single being with supernatural connections for the first time in  _ centuries. The Angel of Death is mourning  _ and  _ Dean Winchester has been saved. _ The words haunt Sam’s dreams, terrifying him, even after Ruby leaves and his family members sit on the bed. Dean stinks of something angelic, something that reminds him of his dreams. It has the youngest silently cringing, though a real grimace does form at one point. When he sees his brother again, there’s the stench of angel, one that he can’t pinpoint to which  _ exact _ angel it is, but he knows it’s a seraph, appointed to his brother. His eyes widen and he has to do a double take of the older. The seals continue to break more and more as time turns. Raising Dean was one of the first seals and The Rising of the Witnesses the second. Sam’s worry rised more an dmore with that realization, especially after Ruby backed it up. That only grows even  _ more _ when Dean fesses up that the famous  _ Castiel _ had taken him back in time. Mary was the reason Sam had demons blood in him. He explained with a new edge on his voice. 

 

Dean hates realizing he was utilizing his demonic powers, controlling demons and sending their essences back down to Hell. Tension builds and builds after Sam lashes out, so tired of Dean looking at him the same way John had years ago. The reminder stung his entire being, the abusive man once erased from his mind until days ago. He hates getting flash backs from demons that he sent back down. Some of them were witnesses to his families life, as he finds. Those are the ones that hurt him the worse, watching them turn more and more into their views of his family. He meets Castiel and Raphael. All the hype of it throws him down instantly. Michael’s Grace burns bright in the air, buzzing around him. Sam sees the outline of wings, held up in a way that Sam  _ knows _ is to establish that he’s higher on the scale than the other two.  _ Two. _ Sam flinches at the feeling of it all, recognition. Dean’s attempt at finding out who is cancelled by Sam’s greeting of, _ Raphael. _ When asked how he knew, Sam voices that it’s the demon blood. He’s still blaming it on that as much as he can. He wasn’t exactly excited about the announcement to smite an entire town, though. 

 

“You’re supposed to  _ heal, _ Raphael, not kill everything in sight! You’re the healer!” 

 

“That I am, Sam, but this will break one of the seals. There are only sixty-six, it will not take long to break them all.” His voice rumbles, edging on to his true voice that Sam  _ knows _ he’s heard before. 

 

The threat from Uriel may have  _ seemed _ real, but Sam knew that the angel was lying. He was no more righteous than Sam was, infected with demon’s blood and something  _ else _ that he couldn’t - or rather  _ refused to _ \- pinpoint. The angels need Sam, need the ‘apocolypse’ to start. He was one of the most important chess pieces. Gabriel had already said that he would, eventually, be at the top, or at least damn near it. It may not have been immediate, but it was  _ definitely _ something that was going to change the chances of the world’s survival. Whether that genuinely involves knowing if Dean had or had not remembered Hell was unknown to Sam, but the younger already had a sneaking suspicion. 

 

When Ruby leads him to the next seal, he can’t help but hate her for ditching him, espcially when he probably needed her more than ever. Every angel felt familiar, as if he had seen them before. He knew every single demon that he had taken down were no where near high enough to know an angel face to face. Azazel, maybe, but everyone else was lowerclass. Sam knows she’s a fallen angel the instant he sees her. His senses shoot off like a gun. Within the next few days, he discovers a new demon is hot on their tail named Alistar. With Dean’s lashing out this time, he reveals what Ruby had done, how she had saved him and promised to teach him how to use his powers. His visions lead him to  _ knowing _ that it was the best option, even if he knew it would ahve terrible outcomes. He selectively avoids voicing that he planned on using the powers to charge through Hell and get his brother’s sould back, knowing  _ somehow _ that there was something that made him untouchable in Hell, especially if he decided to rule over Hell like he knew he should. 

 

Unfortunately, Sam realizes when he hears about Anna’s extra bit of  _ not  _ human in her that he was correct. The knowledge was painful on him. He  _ knew _ he had to accept certain things at certain points, but with all the angels around and their constant presences, he knew that simply  _ pushing it to the back of his mind _ was damn near impossible. He also, unfortuantely, realizes he’s the only Winchester that hadn’t had sex in the Impala, as if the situation wasn’t already shitty. That was a rather disgusting realization that leads him to wiping out the back seat of the car after waking up from one of his many nightmares, rather annoyed with his brother for even  _ considering _ having sex in the car, especially knowing that Sam was always the one pinned to sleep back there. Sam passively manipulates, gaslighting with only the best of intentions. In the end, this gains a silent truce betwwn the two brothers and possibly Ruby. Anna’s Grace is restored while demons and angels battle it out, both desperate to get information from the fallen angel and prevent her from doing anything…  _ Dumb, _ as Ruby selectively words it. Though the oldest Winchester and demon both manage to betray each other, Sam finds that it all works out just a beautifully as his visions had concurred they would. 

 

Dean glares at his brother on the next case. “S, suddenly your whole supernatural mojo finder is gone?” 

 

Sam glares in return, rolling his eyes. “No, it’s not gone. You still smell just like the angels, jackass. I just don’t feel anything supernatural related at all.” 

 

“No ghosts? Werewolf? Literally nothing at all?” 

 

_ “Nothing, _ Dean, okay? I don’t feel anything. Just the angel Grace, that’s it.” 

 

“How can you smell angel, anyway?” 

 

“I don’t exactly smell angel.” Sam sighs as he pulls away from the home, gun slipping into it’s holister. “It’s more of a feeling. I can smell werewolves and vampires and all that other crap. Some things are just other senses. Angels leave Grace. I can hear it and feel it in my chest. It sort of buzzes and my chest gets tight.” 

 

“Buzzes,” the other asks, head tilted to the side and hip cocked out, full of disbelief. 

 

“Buzzes,” Sam confirms, “just like how some witches make things buzz around you when you get too close. Thats the sort of-”

 

“Witches don’t buzz either?” 

 

The younger groans at his brother, frustration clear as he continues to move through the halls, blade in hand instead of gun. Something about this all gave him a feeling that blades would work much better than guns. “It’s just a demon blood things, then, I guess?” 

 

“You sure it’s just demon? All the other demons only seem to be able to see people’s real faces and souls.” 

 

Sam flinches, silently thankful that his brother is turned away when he peaks at him. “Azazel was a prince of Hell and ruler while Lucifer was dorment, Dean. He was one of the strongest demons ever made. There are two or three more, I think - honestly can’t remember - but the point is that he had powers we could never even  _ dream _ of, okay? Hell, he may have even known how to shank an angel without aftereffects, Dean.” He turns to his brother, face flickering with annoyance in his brother. “I don’t feel anything here at all. Just maybe a witch that was here a long time ago?” 

 

“Wait, wait, so I buzz?” 

 

“The Grace left on you from the angels does, just like how it did on Anna. She more hummed than buzzed, though.” 

 

Dean rolls his eyes at that last sentence. The case ends up not actually being supernatural in the least, instead full of twins that were the product of incest, desperate to protect their home without any know that what they were doing was harmful. Sam pities them while Dean sympathizes, so aware of what he had done in Hell, something that flushed through his mind daily. Sam’s comfort doesn’t exactly go unnoticed in the long run, but it does get brushed off. A lot of things get brushed off by both Winchesters, one of which being for Sam to stop the demon blood activities. However, he doesn’t  _ completely _ do such, instead teaming up with Ruby, continuing to move forward on their plans in hopes of taking down Lilith before all the seals break. It feels like a horrible decision, one that makes his stomach curl, coil, twist, whatever synonym he wanted to use. He just knew he felt  _ sick. _ But something continued to scream that this was supposed to happen, that it was the only way to save  _ everything. _

 

When confronted with his old school bully, Sam wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. Of course, the youngest Winchester when the attempted pacifist route, as always. That was just how he worked, his immediate reaction to  _ everything. _ He hated to kill, hated it with his entire being. Sometimes, it felt right, knowing it was the best outcome, but it didn’t stop the rehashing his nightmares threw at him every chance they got. In the end, he at least knew he was making the world a better place. Unfortunately, though, when asked if he’s happy, he can’t answer. He stutters and pulls away from the conversation as fast as he can. Because he’s simply  _ not _ and knows he can’t be, not like that, not with everything looming over him. He  _ knows _ that he won’t be genuinely happy for a while. The angels set him off with worse vibes than he can recount to even Dean, though Castiel seems to be the only one that he can’t, especially when a dream reveals his face as he turns away from the other four archangels and comes face to face with Sam, blue eyes staring at him. Sam doesn’t feel threatened by his presence, instead comforted. 

 

The Winchester’s seem to have a curse placed on them, one that drives them away before crashing the two togethe ronce again. It happens every single time they finally get close to each other. Deals with demons, as it seems, will be their downfalls. While Dean currently holds more than the younger, it doesn’t stop them from feeling mallice towards each other. Sam at Dean for the fact that he  _ knew _ his brother looked at him differently from how he had whn they were younger, before college and demons and blood. Dean at Sam for believing his little drother was belittling his expierience in Hell, as if it hadn’t drastically changed him into being closer to be an angel than anything. If only the two understood how  _ ironic _ that would be in their future, in the promissing night terrors that Sam doesn’t know how in the  _ Hell _ to make sense of, and so on. They’re not kids, no where near it, instead adults with painful lives and haunted halls of a mind. While one relives cases, another plans them out with the tiny pieces of information his brain gives him. 

 

When Sam is a ‘ghost,’ he feels free, so much more free than when he was held down by the clunky thing of a meat suit. However, he isn’t excited for his brother’s hand in his stomach, nor the question of  _ ‘Am I making you uncomfortable?’ _ If it weren’t for the fact that his hand would’ve went through his brother, he would ahve slapped the older in the back of the head, annoyed with his antics. Sam meets Tessa, the reaper that was apparently supposed to take Dean originally. She can’t do much to teach them, not with her capture, but  _ Cole _ can, and does. He dhows them, watching as Sam somehow  _ naturally _ does it, though it feels  _ right _ this time, not like the demon blood felt. THis felt like he had been trained to do it on instincts. It makes his vision go blurry for a moment before images of darkness flicker through, followed by the image of pure white wings. 

 

He hates making Pamela a drink, knowing damn well that she just wasn’t going to make it. He can feel it so deep in his soul, burning in his chest. She fesses up, “I know what you’re doing with that demon, Sam. I can feel what ‘s inside you, what you’re doing with her. If you think that’s wrong, you think again.” His eyes widen and she lets out a soft cough. “You’re less human than you are anything else.” 

 

“Then what-” 

 

“I’m not telling you, Sam. I’m sure you know what you are. Either way, you’re not unlocking any of that now. But you’ll find out how to… Eventually, I promise.” She coughs, pulling away sharply before slumping against the bedframe. The brothers call out her name, but it’s clear that she’s gone. 

 

The tension of it all is draining, painful on both. Dean asks, “What did she say to you?” Sam can’t answer, still processing her words. He  _ knows _ he’s an angel, or at least some piece of it, but he isn’t sure  _ who. _ No angel names seemed familiar to him, not enough to be his own. 

 

Sam doesn’t care, though, not as he relapses. She may say it’s wrong, but Sam  _ knows _ that if he doesn’t do this, the world will end. He’s not sure how he knows or why, but he  _ does _ know that this was foretold at some point, some point long ago. He knows that, in truth, Dean rising wasn’t the first seal, either. He isn’t sure what the first seal was. Maybe it was break the righteous man, or at least something similar to that. He doesn’t ask. Ruby, unfortunately, is the one to tell him, then supplies that  _ An angel just died, I think. _ She doesn’t give him context. Sam doesn’t need it to know that something  _ had _ happened. He felt it in his entire being, just like he had all the other angel killings, though this one seemed so much  _ closer. _

 

When Sam is suddenly in some building and becoming associates with someone else in his building, he takes a pause. His body buzzes, buzzing with  _ power _ maybe. He isn’t actually sure.  _ Samael Wesson _ is the only name he knows. And he knows that a coworker had recently died. But… The building felt  _ off, _ leaving yet another terrible buzzing in his chest, damn near  _ painful. _ The fact that his back suddenly feels like it’s getting stabbed doesn’t help in the least, either. He works with Dean Smith, the two getting closer than they had been before, drawn to each other by what seems to be a ghost. When Sam decides to continue being a hunter because of his painful instincts, but it hurts when Dean painfully lets him down to say no. Sam quits suddenly, unsure  _ why. _ He didn’t actually want to hunt, no, but if he could save people, there wasn’t a single damn thing going to stop him. He would gradually learn what was and wasn’t real. All of that goes turned away the instant he regains his memory, eyes glowing from Zachariah’s Grace looming through his body. Sam realizes that instant that it was all planned, every single bit of it, that the ghost was real. Sam was  _ meant _ to be a hunter, no matter what he attempted to do to stop it, he would end up a hunter. That realization stings, making his chest tighten. 

 

Meeting Chuck and fight9ing with lilith wasn’t bery fun on Sam, in the honest truth. He didn’t care if his brother  _ kind of _ enjoyed toying with the Archangel that had to bend over backwards to save the group of three, the tallest had no desire to continue on with his fight. In fact, he knew that this was all going to end up being a bit of a bitch situation. Actually, a lot of shit ended up being a bitch of a thing. Finding out they had a half brother who enever even  _ knew _ about hunting in the least was one of those things, especially after almost getting killed by a fake him. The two burn their half brother’s corpse, full of regret for not only not knowing the guy, but also for being too late to save him and his mother. The entire encounter with Jimmy Novak didn’t help them in the least, either. It actually just added to their fears and worries.  _ Yeah. _ Sam was having the  _ best _ fucking time, learning about angels and all that other shit, as well as damn near earning a bullet to the chest from his own brother because he doesn’t want to kill Claire’s mother, too full of emotions to wish harm on the human vessel and the child that would, knowingly, be left behind in a world with the full knowledge of demons and monsters being real.Saving her was the least he could do. 

 

Sam’s visions were clear inside of the panic room. His yells were so clearly damaging his vocal chords. He couldn’t hold his head high, no, not with the guilt that had filled him to the brim. Vision after vision, mirage after mirage, nightmare after nightmare, and so on until he knew he was breaking slowly. First Alistar, terrifying Sam. Being strapped down to a table, in his own mind or not, was absolutely terrifying, especially as the other dug around his body. It took far too long for Sam to realize that it was just a trick of his mind, though the pain was genuine and true. 

 

He felt so tiny, staring at his mini-self, panting at the terror that had consumed him after so long. “The answer is,  _ yes, _ you’re halucinating.” He stared at himself, eyes wide as the other thought out his words, slow. “That’s right. It’s me. Or, I mean, it’s…  _ You.” _

 

“I’m losing my mind.” “Definitely,” the other confirms, lips pursed. 

  
“What do upu want?” 

 

The shprter self slowly began walking around the room. “An explaination,” he calls, stopping. His voice isn’t loud, no, not in the least, but Sam still flinches against it. “How could you do this to me? I thought we were gonna be normal.”

 

“I tried. I did. I  _ really _ did.It didn’t exactly pan out that way. Sorry, kid.” 

 

_ “‘Sorry, kid?’” _ Pigtails swing as the younger version of himself swings his head. “THat’s what you have to say? It’s all we ever wanted. We were so close! Y-You got away from Dad, from  _ hunting! _ You were gonna be a lawyer and get married, too! Why did you blow it?” 

 

“Listen, okay?” He finally meets the other’s eyes. The younger Sam stands taller, looking so much better than the olde, who is covered in sweat and feels like his insides are being slowly ripped apart. THe younger stands with a glare, ready to challenge the older. Sam remembers then, when he though the only escape to it all was violence because he had never been taught differently. He’d learned better than that as he aged up. Sam was thankful, at least. 

 

“Yeah. if you hadn’t run off with Dean or at least have taken her with you, she’d still be alive.” 

 

“She’d have been dead if I’d taken her with me. I’ve seen it enough times to know that.” 

  
“Did you ever consider an outcome where you just  _ hadn’t gone? _ That could have helped.” 

 

“No, it wouldn’t have.” 

 

“You think Jess would want you to turn into  _ this _ thing of a monster? She loved you and she thought you could be good. You think she would be happy you’re using her as an excuse?” 

 

Strained eyes look bag at the other. “I’m sorry, okay? I really am. Life never would have turned out that way and we  _ both _ know that. We were fourteen and we were  _ just _ getting everything to even out. We were never once going to be normal. We didn’t even get to be a kid, okay? We couldn’t ever get away, and we never really will. Grow up.” 

 

He pulls his eyes away for a minute before the other appears beside him instea dof in front. “You you’re right. Maybe there’s...no escape. After all, how can you run from what’s inside you?” His eyes flick closed, swarming with yellow. When they flick again, a bright purple glows before him, causing Sam’s back to instantly flare up with a genuine pain, one that brings pain-filled tears. 

 

Sam soon sits on the floor, panting and in terrible pain. He stands, instantly face to face with his mother. There’s a dark wound in her middle, blood pooling on the white nightgown. “Oh, Sam,” she whispers, so full of pity, “you look just awful.” 

 

He scoffs as he gives himself a once over. “Let’s hear it. Go ahead,: 

  
“What’d you mean, Sam?” 

 

“You’re disappointed. You never thought I’d… turn out this way.” He moves around the room, slow. His bones felt as if they’d all been pulled out of their sockets and then shoved back in, ripping tendons and jarring his body. “I’m a…” he trails off for a moment, breathing. “Pisspoor excuse for a child of yours.” his eyes flicker to her for a moment, silently inspecting her for a reaction. Sh edoesn’t really have one. “Maybe even your heart is broken? I don’t know, Mary, I’m not a parent.” he avoids calling her Mom. He knows this is fake and he knows he’ll never have a genuine conversation with her. He couldn’t save her, she had doomed not only herself, but her second child. He huffs out a sigh. “Am I close?” 

 

“Not at all,” she replies as he sits. “You’re doiung the right thing, Sam. You’re being brave and practical about this, not crazy. I’m actually  _ proud  _ of you.” She smiles. “Dean might not understand. I was raised in a long line of hunters. There are going to be tough decisions, ones that involve lots of thinking and ones that don’t. But we do what we have to to get the job done.” She sighs herself, sitting down beside her son. “Our family… It is cursed,” Mary admits, so aware that her son called her by her birth name instead of  _ mom. _ “But you… You have the power to turn it into a gift.” Her hand brushes his hair away, making him sharpen. He feels his own hair in his hand, not hers. That clears up any and all questions near instantly. “You cna use it against them. You can use it for justice, Sam.” 

 

Sam hesitates to ask his next question, face contorted with pain. “What’s… What’s  _ in me, _ Mary? It’s.. It’s-” 

 

“Evil,” she continues for him, nodding, “and you know it. We both do.” Mary nods once again. “You can overcome it, though, I promise. Not  _ all _ of it is evil unless you make it to be. Do what’s right, Samael.” 

  
With that, she disappears, leaving the other in his own burning silence. 

 

Sam starts to get jittery, especually as the veins of black course just under his skin before glowing a faint purple. It burns more an dmore as he  _ desperately _ calls for help. For some reason, this one feels genuine, entirely so, burning and burning as fire courses through his body. He screams at the agonizing pain. Just as suddenly as it began, there was suddeny nothing, his entire body seizing with the reel of fighting that he  _ knows _ his body is doing. It just burns more an dmore. 

 

His eyes flicker open to see his brother. Dean’s looks so full of pain, but it couldn’t be  _ anything _ compared to what Sam felt. Though the bulging veins were gone, he could still feel the constant burning. He thinks he passed out purely from the amount of pain, though it didn’t seem to feel too true now, as he sat with his handschained beside him. 

 

“Why did you do this to yourself, Sam?’ 

 

“Do what to myself?” Sam desperately looks around, throat burning from the yells he’d released earlier. 

 

“You know what.” 

 

Sam winces as his brother’s voice booms at him. “I didn’t give myself this…  _ Essence _ stuff that you think I have. THe demon blood was just to make me stronger. I can’t do anything about that, about  _ it. _ It’s like it’s written in my DNA to seek out blood, like I’ve done it before.” 

 

Dean scoffs at his brother. “Like you’ve done it before, huh? Because every kid just goes out looking for demons and being blood junkies for kicks. That’s just so  _ normal, _ isn’t it, Sam?” He flinches, laying down on the bed. “I know why you do it, actually.” 

 

“Just… Please, Dean? If you’re going to make me go cold turkey, at least let me do it alone?’ 

 

The older just continues on, “It makes you feel stronger, like you’re  _ invinsible.”  _ He starts pacing around the room, though Sam only stares at the fan in front of him. “It’s like you’re the  _ Big Bad Wolf _ running around in a world full of piggies. But… it’s more than that, isn’t it?” He smirks, slowing his pace as Sam’s eyes float to the older. “Because your whole life… You’ve felt different. Am I right?” 

 

“Stop.”

 

The word was so incredibly  _ weak. _ “Oh, hitting too close to home now?” he waits for Sam to attempt to pull away the chains. “Not different becaus eyou were just a lonely, suicidal kid. Not just because of your weirdo family either, no. Oh, no, no,  _ no, _ it’s something deeoer than that.” He pauses, leaning down slowly, not caring that he’s all in Sam’s face. “It’s because you’re a  _ monster,” _ he whispers. 

 

“Shut up,” Sam begs, though it comes out angry instead of broken. He was silently thankful for that. 

 

“You were  _ always  _ a monster. And you  _ always _ knew. You only feel like that’s okay when you suck down more and more of that damn blood, right? It’s like poison, full of nothing but  _ evil! _ You’re drinking straight from the evil tap,  _ Hell’s _ tap.” 

 

“Dean…” 

 

“You  _ knew _ what you were, too!” 

 

“I didn’t know I was a demon!” 

 

“You know,  _ Samantha, _ I tried  _ so _ friggin’ hard to pretend you were actually family. But you are nothing more than one of those  _ filthy things _ that we  _ hunt. _ Hell, we’re not even the same species. You’re  _ nothing _ to me.” 

 

Sam’s fighting stops, tears collecting in his eyes. “Don’t say that to me,” he begs, broken, “don’t  _ you _ say that to me.” it pries sobs from him, choked down into nothing more than harsh breaths. That how it had always been. He closes his eyes and turns his ehad away, forcing the tears to vanish from his eyes. When he turns back to look at Dean, he finds himself alone. He lets himself pass out into a dreamless sleep, thankful for the sudden nothingness. It’s much more relaxing than it had been in a while. 

 

When Sam makes his escape, he runs, the Grace of an angel buzzing his head. However, that’s easy to blame on Dean. The other always stunk of angel and he  _ knew _ Castiel had seen his older brother. He feels bad for knocking out Bobby, the only man that has ever been a father to him in his entire life. His face twists and his body aches. He makes his way to Ruby, desperate for someone that can make him feel worth something, no matter who it comes from. He knew it was wrong, knew he shouldn’t do it… But his mind screamed that he had to. There was something about a prophecy, one spoken to him long,  _ long _ ago, before his time, before  _ Samuel Winchester’s _ time, maybe even before time was considered a thing. Sam isn’t sure, but he  _ is _ sure that he has to fight with his brother. However, that doesn’t stop the line of,  _ You walk out that door… Don’t you  _ **_ever_ ** _ come back. _ Sam makes his decision with a glare burning on the older. 

 

Sam knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing when he killed Lilith, despite all his brother’s threats and the lies he told him. Sure, he didn’t know until that exact moment that the Cage opened, but he knew it all the same. And it strikes him in the form of a painful flashback-vision thing, cuasing the youngest Winchester’s vision to blur and body to ache until everything was consumed in black. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WITH EACH SEPARATION MARK, IT STARTS A DIFFERENT DRAFT. THERE IS NO FLOW. NONE OF THIS IS CONNECTED PROPERLY. DO NOT HOLD IT TO BE SET IN STONE, AS IT IS NOT YET.

“So, I’m  _ not _ in the note,” Sam questions, his confusion clear. 

 

Rowena gasps. “And I  _ was?” _ Her offense was clear by her tone. “What makes him so special?” 

 

“Because I’m not human,” Sam answers simply, though it’s stunted. He, himself, was still far too out of it to actually accept it. It was a sensitive topic, a painful one. He still doesn’t know how to use his grace, how to bring people back, how to-

 

“What do you mean by that? I know you have demons blood, but that won’t be able to help you out here! He probably would’ve spotted you!” 

 

“Because I’m the angel of Death, Rowena,” he snaps. It feels bitterly  _ disgusting _ to say it. 

 

In fact, the witch even scoffs at him for the attempt of an explaination. “And Lincoln is still alive. Now, what’s we say you tell the truth.” 

 

Sam pauses. Hell, he even manages a huff of breathe, because no one is attempting to help him here. “What? My soul still human here?” 

 

“Actually,” Castiel speaks, “I, too, would like an explaination. Neither of you have explained any of this? You’ve been incredibly hush-hush about the supernatural that isn’t Michael since the Pearl?” 

 

“Because I’m  _ seriously _ not human,” Sam scoffs in return. It takes so little power in him to summon the true form, just like using any of his demon powers had, though when he opens his eyes, black surrounds them, aside from the glowing irises that burn a bright purple. Instead of his wings just being shadows, they solidify, black and brown mixing to become solid, though the motel room is far too small, cramped even. 

 

“You really aren’t,” Jack smiles widely, though a gentle cough interupts his happiness. “You’re not human.” 

 

“No,” Sam smiles to his son. “I’m actually Samael, Angel of Death. My other titles include Hades and Thanatos, depending on the cultures you go with. It’s… Been really weird…’ 

 

Rowena chokes out a scoffs. “Even I know angel lore! Samael didn’t actually exist! He was just a figment of something gabriel had created?” 

 

Castiel himself frowns. “Samael died in the fight between Micahel and Lucifer, the first one?” 

 

The tallest shakes his head. “No, no, I didn’t. When Gabriel left, I went with. It was too much, and also being known as the keeper of secrets, I was a target by both, but I couldn’t pick sides. I was never  _ made _ to pick sides. Amara, She created me with half of Her Grace.  _ {The Darkness will not touch Sam under any cirsumstances, unless he does actually get sick with it, tho I can’t remember. If he does, he gains power from it, UwU} _ I was made to tempt and kill, but not to take sides,  _ ever. _ I had to leave and Gabriel gave me the chance to.” 

 

Dean shakes his hadns in front of him. “Hold on, hold on, you didn’t say that when we destroyed that pearl? Were you and Gabriel a thing or-” 

 

“The angel equivilent, Gabriel and Samael were,” Castiel confirms, “even the youngest of angels knew that.” 

 

Dean throws a hand up. “Okay, so Sam’s boyfriend got shagged by Rowena, got it.” his lips juts up and out, the older brother shutting. Or, technically  _ younger. _

 

Sam groans. “Bastard,” he scoffs about the archangel. He crosses his arms and huffs out a sigh. “So, let’s move on from Gabriel and consider the fact that he  _ can’t see me. _ I can go in, too, with Jack and Cas.” 

 

-

 

Sam stares at the pencil. He isn’t sure why. THe pencil wasn’t doing anything to him, not in the least, but his concern was still there, a questioning in if he could or could not do  _ it. _ He had moved things, moved them with his mind, powered by demon’s blood. He wondered if it was still active, always had. It was… It was something he hadn’t tried in years. 

 

He hadn’t wanted to deface his silent promise to his brother, one that neither had spoken> Neither would use demonic powers. THey would get by with what they had, with the knowledge that they had, with their group of Back From The Dead hunters in Team Free Will 2.0. Moving the pencil was a  _ demonic power, _ something he knew his brother absolutely hated. Moving things, moving  _ people, _ that was demonic shit that neither wanted to deal with. 

 

But now… Well, now Jack was here, Jack was  _ his. _ And he was rooting for his father in any way possible because  _ Sam _ was rooting for him, too. He was sticking up for Jack in every way he possibly could. He was sure to convince both Cas and Dean that he was  _ good, _ that Jack was worth fighting for, just like  _ he _ was. 

 

Jack hadn’t known about the demons blood, not completely, not to the extent that he truly understood it. He had understood that Sam was covering it up, that he wasn’t using it anymore, but he also knew that Sam still had it in him. Jack could feel it when he was first created. He hadn’t gotten it himself, his grace protecting him from being “infected,” as Castiel had called it. That had earned an incredibly harsh glare from Sam. 

 

Jack isn’t home. Neither are Cas or Dean. THe three were out to investigate, leaving Sam by himself to research. The only reason that had taken him was because if Jack actuall  _ was _ going to be a hunter, he might as well learn from the best of the best, Dean fucking Winchester him God damn self. Dean’s eyes had narrowed at his brother the instant he had said that, but he  _ did _ cave, taking Jack with him. He hates that he had to say that to the older to convince him, but he had at least gotten Dean to somewhat accept the kid. 

 

The pencil, though, levitates from it’s spot on the table, his irises glowing a faded purple. He stares at it, at the fact that he isn’t even moving hi hand to move it. It just stirs and exists in his spot. Tears fall from his cheeks. He doesn’t understand  _ why, _ though. The pencil falls as he wipes his face. It was just a few tears, that was it, but it still left him upset, nonetheless. He doesn’t attempt it again. He doesn’t  _ want _ to attempt it again. In factm the thought of even doing it again makes him feel nauseaous. He leaves the bunker, just walks away. The note sits by the pencil,  _ Be back soon, _ no other information. It was probably suspicious and all, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the fuck out of there. 

 

He walks through the woods. Leaving the bunker is usually easier than staying there. Staying there meant that he was surrouded by magical items, ones that made his shoulder blades ache and his mind wonder, no matte rhow engrossed in something he looked. It always lingered in the back of his mind, burning like a candle. Sometimes it would consume him, usually when he got far too close to the storage room. When they had first taken stock of everything, he had ended up laying it bed for three days, too overwhelmed by the harsh pain that plagued his body. Dean forced him out of the bunker for a couple weeks of back to back hunting so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. Sam had grown used to it now, though. 

 

THe air was crisp, reaching the perfect temperature. If Sam’s blood didn’t run weird temperatures because of the demon’s blood, he would probably be freezing. He was just in his binder and a flannel, an odd thing to leave his home in. But he had panicked. He had panicked over the fact that his eyes were glowing, over the fact he could still lift the pencil, over  _ everything. _ It was too much and the bunker had been too small. Everything was just a bit overwhelming. Things were just  _ better _ when he got the fuck out of there, which had become a somewhat common practice since the reveal of Jack existing. He couldn’t even count how many times he had left the bunker during those months. Almost every single night that he was there, he had walked somewhere  _ else, _ sure to be multiple different types of blades with him just in case. Thankfully, though, there was rarely any monster ever there. 

 

He stares at the woods. He hadn’t even brought a knife with him. He had just ran, flitting through the woods as if nothing was going on, as if he wasn’t feeling his mind burning holes into suspicions of what in the Hell he was. 

 

Well, he knew what he was.  _ Not human. _ He was far from that now. He had been other species at points, for fucks sake. But now he genuinely  _ knew _ that human was out of the question. He had to recount his information, think it all over. What in the fuck else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just act like he didn’t know he was more than that. Angel had crossed his mind so many times, but angels can’t have children with other angels. That was just something that people knew. And Castiel had said himself that there were only so many angels left. He had even told him that he couldn’t think of any fallen angels aside from Anna and a couple others, ones that were unimportant. That limited his thoughts incredibly so. 

 

Demons could see true faces, yes, but they couldn’t sense monsters, not the way Sam could. Castiel had said that higher rank angels could, but none had fallen or disappeared, not that he could recall. It was possible, of course, but there were no angels that could currently know such. Only the archangels could know, but they were far from actually being able to help him in this situation, asll dead. For some reason, Sam knew that wasn’t true. 

 

Cas had mentioned a fifth archangel, one that had fled with Gabriel, one that was technically his angel version of a husband. When Gabriel had fled, the keeper of secrets had followed, a genuine target for the others. Unfortunately, he had been pegged in the center of it all, only returning to lock Lucifer up himself and then disappearing once again. The angel had been a god, the same as Gabriel, but when the older archangel had appeared alone and never with a companion, they could only assume they were either split, gone, or died. Archangels could disapear just like Gabriel, yes, but that didn’t mean it was easy. 

 

Sam had a suspicion that maybe he was an angel, but it put a bitter taste in his mouth. Who had he been before? Where was his grace? Why had he been graced with a fall? There were so many questions, all boiling withim him. It made his skin itch and his back ache even more, feeling like flames had been started within the inside of his body. With him being Lucifer’s toy for so long, he knew what that felt like firsthand. It was far from pleasent. 

 

He’s gone for hours. When he finally returns home, Dean offers a glare. “Where’d you go, Sam? We got back hours ago?” 

 

“On a walk,” the younger replies simply. 

 

“In  _ that?” _ Dean gestures to his outfit. “You never go out in just a shirt.” 

 

“It was just one of  _ those _ days, Dean,” Sam reiterates.

 

The older nods. He knows well enough what it implied. “Jack’s in his room. I’m not exactly sure what he’s doing, but he’s in there.” 

 

“Okay.” 

 

-

 

Sam’s stomach rolls for the third time in the past ten minutes, though it’s nothing more than empty dry heaving. He’s completely out of contents to upchuck. Sam just sort of wants to die, but he silently guesses that’s just hpw it would go for fellas like himself doing what he was doing. Fuckin’ pregnancy bullshit. The human body was so digusting for shit like this. Why couldn’t he just be a bird? Then he could just sort of parent from afar and not have kids like  _ this. _

 

Sam leaves his room after brushing his teeth, in an incredibly loose flannel. They were rather hard to find in his size, but he had done, he had managed to find some. Not, though, they served as a way to cover up his chest and stomach, things that were both so obviously growing. He hadn’t had to deal with his chest being like this in years. It was the exact reason he worked out. The more muscles someone had, the less fat was there, meaning that there wasn’t much on his chest  _ ever. _ He prefered it that way. 

 

Dean greets him with a hum. “You look like absolute shit,” he comments with his brows raised from behind a cup of coffee. 

 

“Fuck off,” the younger answers, yawning. “I don’t need you to comment on shit I already know.” 

 

“No, I mean you genuinely look like shit. As in more than since you found out you’re literally having Lucifer’s kid.” 

 

Sam grimaces. “Don’t remind me.” He swipes a hand through his hair. “I have to deal with seven more months of this absolute  _ shit.” _

 

“I know.” 

 

Cas decides that then was the moment to pop in. “Hello Dean,” he speaks first before turning to Sam, “Hello Sam.” 

 

“Cas,” Sam replies, “Any news on  _ anything?” _

 

“It’s currently sixty-two degrees farenheit outside and it’s supposed to be sunny, but I think it may get cloudy,” the angel replies before taking a seat beside Dean. “No one had spotted Lucifer or Kelly Kline as of late. This is… Incredibly worrisome, given the lack of activity laterly. I think Lucifer is up to something bigger than before.” 

 

“Okay, so, having a kid isn’t enough,” Dean concludes, sighing. He sets down his cup. Sam wonders if he’s spiked it. “What’d we do now? Sam’s sort of a hunting risk at the moment.” 

 

“Am not. You’re just too protective,” Sam accuses. 

 

Dean’s brows raise, his head tilting down as he points a finger at the older, “Damn straight.” It was call and response, something borht Winchesters were used to. “I’m not letting you hunt. Not until all this is over.” 

  
  



	3. Season 5 Episode 1, [2,403 word]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Meg, added Zachariah, Sam possibly brought Cas back, he also zapped himself and Dean onto the plane, the angels know that something fishy is going on here, please attempt to fouble the wordcount, etc, or at least get some of the in betweens written better. This is all within the span of, like, two days, maybe, at most. 
> 
> Also, Sam has to feel sick when he gets around sickness, thems is just the rules
> 
> THere are also 70 grammar mistakes in that because i didn't even attempt t o clean anything up.

_ His face lights up with a cold feeling, one he doesn’t recognize. Red eyes stare back at him, a blonde’s hand pressing to his jaw. Lucifer’s hand presses to his jaw. Michael stands beside him, their wings all on display for him. He pushes away from the two, but he felt so painfully stuck in place, as if he had no control over his own limbs. Yeah, he doesn’t think he actually does. Behind the curtain of red and blue wings stands the golden archangel, Gabriel’s brows furrowed and his worry clear. Evern further was Raphael, his back starkly turned towards them. But Sam can make out Gabriel’s words, the mouthing so deathly clear. It feels like he’s actually yelling at him. “Keeper of Secrets, our own Angel of Death,” Gabriel seems to say before Sam is suddenly snapped out of it.  _

 

Sam wasn’t passed out, no. THe vision made him sure feel like he was, he was far from it. The blinding light, the ringing in his ears, that was purely Lucifer. Sam can feel it all deep within him. Sam oh so desperately clings to his brother, hands tight around his shoulders. He wants the fuck out of there, as soon as is possible. He wants Cas back, too, just as much as ever. He may not have been close to the angel, but that didn’t mean that Sam didn’t want his ass saved and here, or at least away from everything so incorrect and shitty. He wants him saved. With what seems like a flick of a wrist, the two are on a plane. A plain that’s  _ crashing, _ actually. Things were rough, rough as can be. The two drive Baby as if they weren’t there. Sam totally ignores the fact that his eyes were passively glowing purple. He doesn’t think Dean notices.  _ [He doesn’t, thankfully.] _

 

The two venture to see Chuck, soemthing so desperate. It was an act of need, They had to get the Hell away from everything. Dean’s speculation that  _ maybe _ it was angels that had saved them wasn’t exactly wrong, but it was far from right, too. He was, however, beyond surprised that Chuck had slammed a fucking plunger at his head. The only thing the moose of a man could do was say  _ ow _ to it, glaring at the other. 

 

“Sam? You’re okay,” he asks loudly, eyes wide. 

 

Sam presses a hand to his head. “Well, my head hurts now, thanks.” 

 

“Bu-b-b-but-t, uh, my last vision! Your body was over a hundred fifty degrees! Your heart rate was over two hudred! Your eyes were all black and then got all glowy and purple! You looked like Vader or something!” 

 

“Your eyes went black,” Dean asks suddenly. 

 

His brother sslowly turns to him, examining the asperated Winchester. He softly shrugs. “I don’t know, Dean.” He sofftly supplies. It isn’t a solid answer, he knows, but he doesn’t actually care much. 

  
Thankfully, Dean moves to the next topic, looking at Chuck to question, “Where’s Cas?” 

 

Chuck’s body language all drops, hinting at something pitiful. “Well… He’s dead, or at least gone. The archangel, he smoked him or  _ something. _ I’m so sorry, Dean.” It’s not directed at Sam. The statement doesn’t have to be. Sam understands what it means, who it was actually menat for. He has no issue with being ignored here. It was perfectly fine. 

 

“Are you sure,” Dean huffs, voice raising the tiniest bit. “Are you sure? He didn’t just disappear or something like that? He does that a lot, anyway/” 

 

Chuck huffs. “Oh, no, no, Cas is goen. He exploded. Kind of liek if you microwaved some chucky soup while it was still canned. Or a waterballoon of chunky soup getting thrown. You get the chunky soup gist, right?” 

  
Sam sighs, lookinga t the other with furrowed brows as his brother turns away. He pauses, brows pinched together as he roughly directs the prophet to what seems to be something in his hair. “I, uh, think you got,...” It was atiny war of dirrections there. Well, until the other pulls a molar out of his hair, the bloody tooth on display for them. It sure as hell feels angelic, Sam could agree with that, yeah. Yeah, it was a stressful day. 

 

“Cas, you stupid bastard,” Dean complains softly, not focused on either of them. 

 

Sam turns to the older, his confusion clear as day. “Stupid? Dean, he tried to help us.” THere was no anger in his words, not even a hint. 

 

“Yeah, exactly.” Dean’s words, however, did carry some anger in them. “Helping us seems to get people killed if you haven’t noticed, Sam.” 

 

THere was a moment of the two softly exchanging words, only for both Sam and Chuck to pause, both chiming in at the same time with an, “Oh, crap.” Dean doesn’t egt to ask questions, not as Zachariah suddenly stands before them, displaying a smile and his calm words, as always. Three angels stood, all dressed up in suits. Dean doesn’t like it one bit, not as he threatens them, so damn passive. They had jumpstarted judgement day, after all. 

 

“Oh, we idn’t dtart it. Sammy did, of course. He was the only person that could do it. You had a chance to stop him, Dena, but you didn’t. Now, let’s stop talking about who did what and get to the good bit where it’s brother versus brother again, okay? We’re all on the same team now.” 

 

“Oh, are we,” Dean asks sarcastically. 

 

Zachariah nods. “Yeah. You want to kill the devil, we  _ want _ you to kill the devil. It’s a win-win situation here.” 

 

“Sso we’re suddenly just all buddy buddy?” 

 

“Dean, we don’t have time to pin blame. We have to strike hard and fast, before Lucifer can even get his hands on a vessel. As soon as he does, it’s over for everyone. He might just be the most powerful being in the universe aside from God Him-” 

 

“What about Samael,” Sam interrupts. 

 

“Who?” 

 

“Samael. The fifth archangel, the one left out of any and all books.” 

 

Zarchariah frowns. “How do you know about him?” 

 

“Let’s just say a little birdy told me. Now, what about him? What can he do? He’s supposed to be one of the strongest archangels, even more powerful than all four of them, because he wasn’t made by God.” Sam’ hesitatntly moves forward. “He was strong enough to fight back and keep out the darkness from the world, from everything. So, what can he do?” 

 

“He fell many centuries ago and he’s been disconnected from heaven since. No one’s known his, nor Gabriel’s whereabouts since. We couldn’t tell you anything if you wanted. Most angels don’t even  _ know _ about Samael.” He glares at the young Winchester. “We don’t have time to go looking for someone dead, if that’s what you’re suggesting. He’s been dead for a while. Now, we have to get to stopping lucifer. As soon as he’s back, there are going to be a lot of things going on. The Four Horseman, the fiery skies, every single religion is going to be crapping themselves because the end is neigh. And we need to stop it before he has the chance to start it.” 

 

Within their fight, Sam doesn’t actually take in much of what they’re saying. Dean and Zachariah have their banter, sure, but the fact that Dean is suddenly slamming his hand down on some angel banishing sigal makes his chest burn. Thankfully, it doesn’t xap him away, too. He guesses that that one small bit of grace was really all he was going to get, the grace gone now. Otherwise, he thinks he would have disappeared, too. Whatever in the hell actually put him on that plane, himself or the angels, it was clear that it had halted his thirst for demon’s blood. THe two had their own little banter, painfully so. It was an incredibly odd thing to suddenly find that they did  _ actually _ have to look for the devil himself, but it seemed that that was their only option now. Sam’s dreams weren’t helping very much. It was just the blonde vessel’s face and Lucifer’s passive manipulation. Sam, however, feel’s Becky’s presence before he sees it. She’s there and she’s physically there. THe fact that Sam was actually transgender, though, never semed to be written in the books. 

 

Bobby was the next to appear. All that Sword of Michael shit was annoying. THe Heavenly Host, he knows enough about that without the stuff. Bobby stinks of something that Sam simply can’t exactly pinpoint. His head was far too out of everything. He doesn’t feel like Bobby, not at all. Bobby was far too harsh, something that the gruff man  _ never _ was. Lose his number? That wasn’t like Bobby at all. Even Dean seems to have somewhat of a clue about that. 

 

The next conversation about save Sam or kill him. Everything about the save him or kill him, bringing up John once again, it was far too annoying. Sam, however, wasn’t present for that. He probably should’ve been, but he wasn’t. Bobby being possesed by a demon, too, most certainly was not part of the plan. The plan was an absolute bitch. Meg may have been a painful twist, but Dean was sure to let her know that she was talking too much. With the kiss, he can’t help but ask if t was peanut butter. She sure as Hell tasted like it. When Sam finally runs into the room, Bobby had already stabbed himself. Meg was no fun to be around. 

 

More visions of Lucifer appear, though no headsplitting migraine accompanies them. Instead, it’s just a harsh hum, one he doesn’t like. It was a man walking through a home, no baby found, just an empty cradle. A baby’s crying was clear, as well as the blood that pooled on the floor, displaying an empty crib with a baby blanket and teddy bear. THose visions are some of the worst. 

 

Sam can’t exactly say he’s surprised when Dean was reaveaked as Michael’s swrod. It would explain why Sam was actually so drawn to him. He was Michael’s vessel, his  _ true _ vessel, just like how Sam was Lucifer’s. Sam never wanted to say yes, but he knew it would come up at some point. With Zacharaiah’s annoying threats, he cries out with pain, lets it happen. He just listens to the conversation. Michael needs concent to take out the Serpent. It wasn’t only foretold, but needed. Zarchariah’s threat’s may have been shit, but he at least seems to get somewhat creative. Once again, Sam  _ feels _ it before he  _ sees _ it. He already knew Cas wasn’t  _ completely _ dead, he couldn’t be. He was so important to them, to the future of this world. 

 

“How am I alive? That is a good question. How did the Winchesters get on that plane?  _ Also _ a good question. ‘Cause the angels didn’t do it. I thinkt hat the first one, we both know the answers to, don’t we?” 

 

Zachariah seems to stutter woith his response to the footsoldier angel, unable to actually respond for a split second. “No. No, I don’t think we do.” 

 

“If it wasn’t God, the only other option could’ve been Samael, and I’m not sure which one is a bigger threat.” 

 

“That… THat’s not possible.” 

 

“It scares you,” Cas concludes, nodding. [Sam was fucking suffocating in the background, but go off I guess.] “Well, it should. Now, put these boys back togethe rand go. I won’t ask twice.” Zachariah gives him one final glare before he disapepars. With the next few sentences, the announcement of getting a protection sigil carved into his ribs is a tiny bit alarming, honestly, but nothing he couldn’t handle. 

 

Nick is the next person to bisit his life. It’s rather… Offputting, to say the least. Lucifer announcing his presence as a dead woman to her stilla live hisband is rather cruel. It is so  _ very _ cruel. He holds nothing back for him, taunting him with God, with the fact that He let his family die. Nick cries silently, tears falling down. But he does garentee his own family, one in the future, one that brings along justice  _ and _ his new family. Lucifer says he doesn’t lie, doesn’t need to, but Sam knows bettr, even if he’s just speculating. With the final truth of actually possesing his vessel, Lucifer’s eyes seem to turn towards exactly where Sam is standing, red eyes focussing on the youngest Winchester. 

 

The next conversation is with Bobby, he and Dean talking about how to kill the Devil himself. Sam frowns at it, just speculating, because not only does he have the information that Lucifer is in a vesel, but also the information that Samael was far from dead. Unlike the two before him, he at least knew whe he was. Dena may not know how to kill Lucifer, but Sam at least knows that there’s some way to stop it, and he’ll be damned for all eternity if he doesn’t try. Bobby says he’s nine kinds of crazy and Sam doesn’t comment. He goes to follow his brother, only for Bobby to stop him and tell him he doesn’t have to lose his number. Sam’s pretthy fucking thankful for that. 

 

“I was thinking, maybe we could go after the Colt?” 

 

“And what exactly would it do?” 

 

“But all that-” 

 

“All that stuff I said was for bobby’s benefit.” 

 

“What-” 

 

“Sam, we are dealing witht he actual Devil here. I will fight. Hell, I am fighting, but you heard all that shit. Cas was brought back to life by either God or some archangel that no one has heard from in foever. Unless you’ve got insight on him or capital H Him, there really ain’t much we can do here.” 

 

Sam’s brows furrow at his brother. He can’t tell him, not yet, it’ll change everything. 

 

“You of  _ all _ people should know that we don’t stand a chance against the Devil.” 

 

Ruby was once again brought up. Sam wants to help. He wants to repair their relationship. He can’t give up the informationto Dean. it compromises everything. His brother can’t trust him and lord knows that that was pretty fucked on it’s own. The two were far from being on the best of speaking terms. It was rough and Sam could only apologize. He couldn’t even tell him the actual truth. 

**Author's Note:**

> My Grammarly stopped telling me how many mistakes I had after it surpassed 200 UwU
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/17692490/chapters/41732606
> 
> That's the official fanfic


End file.
